Basically the crazed musings of a dirty, pissed-off public-sector desk slave, only… he's not as mad as he thinks he is.

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I’ve made no secret (on this blog, at least) of my addiction to net porn. I fight, and fight, and fail. My fear of women exacerbates this, but it’s a fear that has never been smaller. I’m almost there.

I’ve heard stories of people who quit the porn and subsequently notice women paying them attention. They would have been paying attention before, but the man’s brain is wired up to be aroused by the computer, not women in the flesh in their real lives. Once porn is out of the equation, they notice women, and women notice them, and they think, why didn’t I do this earlier?!

I’ve tried to quit time and time again, but I always went back to it because I hated my life. My life is pretty good right now. I might be able to quit. We’ll see. I’ve used it today. That was the last time. Here I go.

I mentioned 2 weeks ago that I fancy someone. This is a rarity for me, to single someone out rather than checking out hundreds of women (and subsequently being ignored by them all). I’ve found her on Twitter. We’ll call her HW. She got me guestlist at a club she works at this weekend just gone, but half my mates couldn’t get in as they were disorganised ARSEHOLES and once again didn’t bring ID. I’m going to try again next week. But I should keep a little twitter DM convo going as well.

I have loads to do but I’m not doing it for some reason (depression and porn). I will try again next week.

Last week I mentioned I’d been on a date. The Niece has stopped texting back. She was obviously not that interested to begin with. Shame I had to shell out so much to find this out, but whatever. I mus just not have been good enough for her, for whatever reason.

Been out a few times this week, and am still taking antidepressants. They seemed to be working at first, but I’m still feeling hesitant and not good enough for women. Need to stay away from certain places and people- Indian women are SNOBS. I keep trying though. I said hi to one of them and she just thumbed at me to her mates and rolled her eyes. Whatever. I’ve managed to have few short conversations with people in a few bars, but I’ve struggled.

Moving on from this for a moment- I’m still filling out the PIP mandatory reconsideration form. It’s taking ages but it’s pretty much done now- it just needs checking over by a professional. The last professional to read it said I need to push the depression element of the problem. So this means writing something about porn addiction and putting it in. I don’t want to do this when my family might read it, so it means writing this extra part tomorrow. My family have helped me fill in the form but I now have to add in the extra parts and hope it doesn’t go to appeal, and also hope they don’t ask me about it in front of my parents who would be there with me.

To add more to this form, I should write about how my condition affects me in bars, so I’ve been making notes on my feelings when I’m out in bars. “Heart beatin hard. Trembles. Stomach feels sick. Literally any other guy would be better for her.”

Girl mate SF gave me a pep talk. “I just think that they should be grateful that I want to talk to them,” she said. I wish I could feel that way about myself. Sertraline has not made that adjustment.

The drunk milf I met a couple of weeks ago is ill, so hasn’t met me. “I’m ill” is the classic excuse most women pull when they can’t be arsed any more, but she seems to still be in touch so who knows. Plenty more either way.

Disability benefit DLA has turned to PIP, which I am applying for. When I got DLA the lady helping me fill out the form really knew how to dig around to get the information out of me. This time I’ve done it with a guy who I’m not convinced was digging deep enough. It was also a bit humiliating telling my mum that the “confidence building” sessions I was having were actually psychosexual therapy. Doubt it came as a surprise, though. I’ve had to get an extension as I’m waiting for my successful DLA form to come thorough the post. That way I can see what I said and replicate it. Why they can’t just scan it in and email me the PDF I don’t know. And what the need was in changing DLA to PIP I also don’t know, as it’s the least-abused of all benefits. They just don’t want to spend money on disabled people. I’ve just come off the phone to them: they hadn’t actually requested the file when I’d asked them to, so the woman has only just done it now. The extension on the deadline has been made though. (Why do they need this deadline in place? They would be the ones paying us, so what benefit to them is there in having this deadline?)

To further humiliate disabled people, we are all being called in for a face-to-face interview to check that we aren’t lying. DLA was the least-abused credit out of all of them. Why won’t these fuckers trust us?!

I was really up for seeing a house music group at The Warehouse Project. A few mates were up for it but they then sold their tickets to get tickets for another night instead. I don’t even know the group playing that night, and forty fucking quid for a ticket is a LOT of money, so I’m probably going to duck the latter, I’ve the ticket I did buy up for resale, and I’ll not go to Warehouse Project at all. It means I can spread out my money to go to more nights out. In fact, I’ve not heard from the group I was going with so I’m wondering whether they’ve gone quiet on me.

So yeah, not the best of weeks, but I have plans for nights out etc. So let’s see how things go.

There’s a building down the road for me, a place I’ve visited when I’ve needed NHS treatment for mental problems. They frequently run support groups for people with a range of different needs: Alcoholics Anonymous (a HUGE group) Gamblers Anonymous (not much smaller) groups for people addicted to painkillers, groups with a focus on certain ethnicities, a PTSD group and a group for substance abusers. There’s one addiction, though, that they don’t provide for.

Porn addiction. If there’s an AA and a GA, why is there no PA? Why is it that people feel comfortable enough to talk about being an alcoholic but not a heavy porn user? Why are we ashamed about our own sexualities? Is it really that we don’t want the receptionist at the building to know we watch Xvideos on a daily basis?

What makes this so strange is that porn addiction is fast becoming the most common addiction in the developed world. See some interesting American stats here and some UK / Worldwide stats here.

Yet when you search the net, there are only private therapists offering support. (And why go for this when you can get your GP to refer you to NHS psychotherapy?)

A support group would need a memorable pseudonym, like “Broadband” or something- not too suggestive but with a relevant sub-context for remembrance. Questions: who would be brave enough to set it up? How would you promote it? Who would allow the group to meet in their building? (You’d think most public buildings, but Brits are still hung up on sex.) You’d be more likely to get a building to host a support group for heroin junkies than for porn addicts, and the needle-users would be more likely to show up for the meetings.

It’s certainly a tough one. Admitting to your family that you have banana penis or that you can’t orgasm during sex because of the brain-rottingly large amount of hard porn you’ve been watching over the last 7 years is not easy. Admitting it to the therapist isn’t either. But having regular sessions means you’re busy at certain times during the week, so they’re going to find out a certain amount for themselves. They’ll be thinking, what is he DOING every Wednesday afternoon? I’m no expert, but you might be wondering, what did I do in this situation?

Well, I told my parents it’s “confidence building”. That’s a pretty accurate description. It leaves out a lot of detail, obviously, but it’s family-safe. I told them what I felt was appropriate from the sessions that I had with JM. We’d discussed opening new social circles. I’d explained that I needed to treat myself more. That it was helping with insomnia (which it may be). That I’d had to go to a second GP to get the referral (the first one, my mum agreed, is quite useless.)

The key is to put a positive spin on the situation. Don’t mention porn. Don’t mention depression. Just mention where it’s sending you. It’s to give you more confidence, to help you meet more people, to make you more decisive and- if you want to risk it- by getting out of bad habits and into good ones. (Be ready for them to ask you what bad habits. For me, my safe answer was “cut down on social media”.)

In essence, positivity can get you places. It’s not psycho-babble- the clichéd PMA can improve your situation, and can also allow you to cover your back.

A few weeks ago I made myself go to my GP. I’d been waiting for an excuse to tell him something. I needed a second reason to go, so I decided to wait ’til something sprung up before going to discuss something slightly more awkward than usual.

Appropriately, a bout of insomnia washed over me a month or so ago so I booked in and slouched, bog-eyed, on his patient chair. He gave me a course of Zopiclone, a heavy knock-out remedy. It’s like pressing the “force quit” button on your brain. It puts you under for a good ten hours. Incredible.

But I didn’t know that by this point. I asked about a pain I’d had in my ear that, by the time I’d got to my appointment, had subsided. He confirmed there had been an infection, but it had cleared.

Which left only one issue to discuss. Deep breath.

“I think I’m addicted to pornography.”

“Okay. How long do you think you’ve had the problem?”

“Well, I got broadband in my room in 2007, so maybe since then, I suppose.”

“Well, it’s certainly not an unusual problem, Patrick. I get a LOT of guys coming in here saying that. Is it quite strong, the stuff you’re watching?”

“Yeah. It’s all legal but it’s about as strong as it comes.”

“Well- with watching this kind of thing, your body gets flooded with endorphins, and the body needs those endorphins at a slightly higher rate each time. But it can be reversed. There’s nothing I can give you for it, you’ve just got to try to stop.”

I said I would try. And I have. And I’ve failed hideously, for a number of reasons.

I’m a writer, and I spend most of my time at this computer, where the broadband is. I can be busy writing something when, whoops, look what I’ve loaded up.

I live alone. There’s no-one here to distract me or catch me.

I have quite a lot of “me time”.

There are no women in my life. No girlfriends. This is another major life-long problem that- if I don’t act upon effectively- I’ll take to the grave.

So. Here’s a plan that I devised myself.

Get the daily wank out of the way in the morning, before getting up. Do this without porn on the mobile (unlimited internet is a fucker for this kind of challenge).

Get out of the house and meet more women. I’ve tried bars and clubs, I’ve tried writing groups, I’ve tried dance groups, I’ve tried dating sites, and yes, I’ve tried “not trying too hard”, before you ask. You patronising twat. But I’ll try a few other things as well, including starting random conversations with every passing person, regardless of whether or not there is any attraction.

Continue to be a self-loving, self-congratulating arrogant twat. This is much more preferable (and effective) than being a self-loathing, self-flagellating piece of shit of a human being, which is a persona I accidentally slip into from time to time. And I am a man who knows only black and white- there are very few shades of grey in my world.